A howl of rage went up from the samurai, and a half-dozen spears leaped at long range toward Theriere.  One of the weapons transfixed his thigh, bringing him to earth.  Byrne was at the forest’s edge as the Frenchman fell—­it was the girl, though, who witnessed the catastrophe.

“Stop!” she cried.  “Mr. Theriere is down.”

The mucker halted, and turned his head in the direction of the Frenchman, who had raised himself to one elbow and was firing at the advancing enemy.  He dropped the girl to her feet.

“Wait here!” he commanded and sprang back toward Theriere.

Before he reached him another spear had caught the man full in the chest, toppling him, unconscious, to the earth.  The samurai were rushing rapidly upon the wounded officer—­it was a question who would reach him first.

Theriere had been nipped in the act of reloading his revolver.  It lay beside him now, the cylinder full of fresh cartridges.  The mucker was first to his side, and snatching the weapon from the ground fired coolly and rapidly at the advancing Japanese.  Four of them went down before that deadly fusillade; but the mucker cursed beneath his breath because of his two misses.

Byrne’s stand checked the brown men momentarily, and in the succeeding lull the man lifted the unconscious Frenchman to his shoulder and bore him back to the forest.  In the shelter of the jungle they laid him upon the ground.  To the girl it seemed that the frightful wound in his chest must prove fatal within a few moments.

Byrne, apparently unmoved by the seriousness of Theriere’s condition, removed the man’s cartridge belt and buckled it about his own waist, replacing the six empty shells in the revolver with six fresh ones.  Presently he noticed the bound and gagged Oda Iseka lying in the brush behind them where he and Theriere had left him.  The samurai were now sneaking cautiously toward their refuge.  A sudden inspiration came to the mucker.

“Didn’t I hear youse chewin’ de rag wit de Chinks wen I hit de dump over dere?” he asked of Barbara.

The girl, oddly, understood him.  She nodded her head, affirmatively.

“Youse savvy deyre lingo den, eh?”

“A little.”

“Tell dis gazimbat to wise his pals to de fact dat I’ll croak ‘im, if dey don’t beat it, an’ let us make our get-away.  Theriere says as how he’s kink when his ole man croaks, an’ his ole man was de guy youse put to sleep in de chicken coop,” explained the mucker lucidly; “so dis slob’s kink hisself now.”

Barbara Harding was quick to see the strength of the man’s suggestion.  Stepping to the edge of the clearing in full view of the advancing enemy, with the mucker at her side, revolver in hand, she called to them in the language of their forbears to listen to her message.  Then she explained that they held the son of Oda Yorimoto prisoner, and that his life would be the price of any further attack upon them.